


Criminals of the Underworld

by mvphi



Series: Criminals of the Underworld [1]
Category: Criminals of the Underworld
Genre: COTU, Criminals of the Underworld - Freeform, Gen, mvphi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-06
Updated: 2018-08-06
Packaged: 2019-06-23 01:33:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 522
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15595290
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mvphi/pseuds/mvphi
Summary: ##WARNING##This is not a war book.Story Includes character death, mental/emotional/physical abuse, graphic and violent scenes, mentions of non-con, drugs and alcohol, racist slurs towards French and Italian, profanity.If you are sensitive to any of these warnings listed, please feel free to read something else. Nothing personal. <3###########Feedback and reviews are appreciated, comment at the bottom if so.Special thanks to Ani and Evan for making this possible.





	Criminals of the Underworld

**Author's Note:**

> ##WARNING##  
> This is not a war book.  
> Story Includes character death, mental/emotional/physical abuse, graphic and violent scenes, mentions of non-con, drugs and alcohol, racist slurs towards French and Italian, profanity.  
> If you are sensitive to any of these warnings listed, please feel free to read something else. Nothing personal. <3  
> ###########  
> Feedback and reviews are appreciated, comment at the bottom if so.
> 
> Special thanks to Ani and Evan for making this possible.

November 17th, 1945 8:52 p.m.

 

“What’s your birthday wish, sugar?” 

Mahogany eyes drifted to the side for contemplation. He’s clueless about what he wants but not what’s around him. He’s got a lot to give but doesn’t give much to himself. A faint sigh emits from him as he begins to tap his foot. The tapping of his foot reminds him of walking alongside rainy streets, the only light coming from the towering streetlights. The only thing he can smell is smoke, the only thing he can hear is the rain drizzling, the only thing he can feel is cold and heartless, the only thing he can think about is my imminent time, and the only thing he can see is a void of darkness welcoming him. He’s not thinking straight, but he’s not in a trance. His arm and back stings and pains, his breathing becoming more rapid and shallow by the second. He can only see the red haze.

“Maybe you could find someone to call them your’s.” 

The shoe continues to tap. He ponders the idea of entertaining that someone out there could find him interesting and lovable. If that entertainment were to become a reality, then he would finally see colours pass black and white. You wouldn’t call him a romantic, not even a hopeless one. He’s never mastered the skill of basic romance, not even touched it. He sees love as toxic and dangerous, he thinks it’s like alcohol. One drink, you’re hooked. That drink could be poisonous, too. A part of him doesn’t care if he would die from the drink, all he wants is a taste. It seems like everyone can do anything for love.

“I know how much you wanted your own B.B. gun, but it was a little pricey. Whatever you want doesn’t have to be expensive.” 

His gaze moves down to his hands, he pictures grasping cash. More dollar bills are passed down to him. Adults love money, kids do too. He doesn’t like money. What can he buy with money? He can buy firearms, a new identity, artificial love, and persecution. People think they can buy all natural things. Money is so pointless, he thinks, but, it’s the way to cheat life. 

“On the other hand, there was this Wellington toy jet I saw while shopping.”

A toy jet. Everyone sees a jet as something free but still captive. It can take flight for only a little bit. He doesn’t think that. He thinks a toy is his pride and joy. He imagines his pride and joy flying away, being released from captivity. This time is different, it’s much longer than before. He’s not sure if he should throw this thing up or down. He throws it upwards toward the sky, but it ends up falling to the ground. 

“What do you think, Vincent?” 

“I don’t know what to think,” he says, his eyes stressing from the candle blazes, “it’s all too confusing and overwhelming.”

“Overwhelming?”

“Yeah. All of these possibilities.” 

“Don’t worry,” she says, patting his dark hair. “In the end, everything is going to be okay.”


End file.
